Solitude before the festivities of July 4th has, so far, included cleaning out the freezer and cooking a few dishes to go in it,. I won’t ask you when you last cleaned and cleared your freezer, but trust me, it’s gotta be a solitary act. There’s nothing communal about it. Take out the saran wrapped pieces of bacon, notice the freezer burn, and throw. I can’t believe the little treasures that I kept—egg whites, heels of bread, a chicken carcass for chicken broth—to be thawed and made at a later date. I’m my mother’s daughter, so my sisters tell me. Mom saved everything and so do I.

     Truth be told, I did make the broth, but, I did throw the egg whites. We’ll take the bread to the duck pond later this week. Oops, probably not good for the ducks. Hard to do it right these days whether in solitude or community.

      (I bet you’re thrilled to see a picture of my freezer. Not easy to take a good one. Trust me, the photo doesn't do it justice.)

• You can’t get a poor meal in Italy.

• The only salt I ever added was to the salad that I made in my apartment—and I’m a salt person.

• White bread, white pasta; I didn’t come across anything that resembled whole wheat.

• Nor did I see any broccoli, either in the markets or on the menu.

• Green, fresh lettuce. How do they get it so clean?

• If you’re not going to eat the bread, ask the waiter to take it away or you’ll be charged.

• Fewer menus offering a ¼ liter of vino da casa; more wine for sale by the glass—this more expensive.

• Sauces is mixed with the pasta, not added on top.

Si mangia bene in Italia.

We just got back from a weekend from Vermont on Lake Dunmore. My mother-in-law always said that it was the most beautiful lake in the world. I believed her then, I believe her now.

     On my early morning walk today a bluebird flew from her little house; I stopped and waited for her return.

      “If you wait long enough, she’ll come back,” came a voice from one of the cottages that lined the road. “We have all kinds of wild life around here—bears and across the bay I saw a grey wolf.”

       I shared that I had seen a pileated woodpecker and went on my way.

     How mysterious, this solitude is. This mini conversation with the invisible man didn’t intrude on it a bit. In fact in enhanced it somehow.

If you want to feel silence, just spend a day traveling, particularly in airports. Then, when you get home the silence will be palpable and sacred. Enough to say that in airports there is a constant din of the loudspeaker.  Most of the announcements are impossible to decipher and useless to 99 % of the travelers. On the plane the piercing ‘ping’ of the call button consistently broke the sound barrier.
     Tonight’s  thunderstorm sounds like nature’s silence.   

      We’re going to Vermont for a couple of nights. There will be no wifi service, so this blog will be silent until Monday or Tuesday.  

I’m writing this post on the train from Firenze to Roma. “You should be enjoying the scenery,” you say. Well, I am but during the first part of this rapido trip, talking only an hour and a half, many tunnels cut through the Appenines.

     Ready as I am to return home, I’m always a little sad to  leave Tuscany and particularly Firenze. But a few days ago I started to get prepared. It seems that is the way with endings—a combination of the person making the mental and physical shift and the environment sending signals that it’s time to move on.

     The mental shift is easy. With July 4th coming up, there are many plans with family and friends to look forward to . Plus I have a ‘very grateful’ life back home.

     The environmental signals just appear. “We are into full season,” I was told, which was evident wherever I turned. The number of tourists had at least doubled since my arrival twelve days ago, and the tourist attractions were crowded. I understand that without ‘goods and services’ Florence wouldn’t exist for any of us, but when I saw a huge ‘building’ fabricated to advertise Toyota take up half the space of the Piazza della Republica, I felt it was time to go (I refused to take a picture of it) .

        And then there is the heat.  95 degrees.  I’ve never been here this late into June. It is time for this tourist to give a little more space to the others still there. As far as my sadness in leaving, I’m still working on what that’s all about.

Last night's sunset was one of a kind. It had a sad quality about it, which is a little how I'm feeling on this last full day here. I've had a particularly satisfying, soul-filled time, but that’s what’s hard to let go of. I wonder if I’ll ever get back here to see another sunset on the Arno?

     But, alas,  once again this morning, there was the sunrise I can always count on. I’m ready to go home to family and friends. I am blessed.

 

I am wondering if I’m turning into a paparazzi. In Rome, it was the pope, and yesterday it was Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands. Some of my good luck in seeing these celebrities up close may be because I am traveling alone. I have the freedom to schedule my time and be at my own leisure.

       My destination was  San Miniato al Monte, a exquisite Romanesque church on a hill a short distance beyond Piazzale Michelangelo.

     “Closed until 2; there’s a wedding taking place,” I am told in Italian.

    

Disappointed, yes , but I had also planned to explore the cemetery that circles the entire back of the church. I don’t think I am exaggerating to say that this cemetery contains the graves of 10,000 people. Tombstones of all kinds, expressing the life and death, the joys and sorrows of loved ones and families.

    

As I made it around to the other side of the church, I noticed a small gathering of on-lookers staring intently through a fence toward the side entrance of the church. Clearly they were waiting for someone. It turns out they were from the Netherlands and were waiting to see their queen who was attending the wedding of her niece, Princess Maria Carolina of Bourbon-Parma. They made space for me along the fence, and when the queen came out, thankfully they pointed her out to me.  I was lucky to get even one photo before she stepped into her limo and was whisked away. The queen was followed in fast order by other members of the royal family and then after a pause, out came the bride and groom. Our little paparazzi group sent them off with applause and the Dutch national anthem.

   

I’ve given you a fast forward version of this event. I stood there a good hour, with lots of comings and goings and conversations. Seems the Dutch love their queen, her sister (mother of the bride), and all the family.

         When I finally entered the church, custodians and priests were sweeping up flower pedals; much of the church was partitioned off, and the crypt was closed. Not a time to visit, but the royal even was well worth the walk up the hill.

You may wonder what the morning is like for someone (like me)  traveling alone. I’ve been sleeping late, something I never do at home, where 5:30 is my rising time;  here in Firenze it’s been more towards 8! Since I have no obligations to anyone, I can live on a whim.

      This morning went something like this. Up and out for a cappuchino—gulp, gulp. Then I wandered to the Arno and sat on the Santa Trinita bridge for a while and drank in the sun and the view—no gulping. When that felt like enough. I continued across the river to Piazza  Santa Spirit. Ah, the church was open for prayer so I went in and sat—no gulping, just being. When Mass started, I tiptoed out and bought lettuce at the outdoor market. The lady who runs the stall knows who I am, so we had a friendly little exchange. Next stop was the shop were I bought bread and cheese for today’s picnic. By then it was time to wander back to my apartment for my breakfast of yogurt and cereal, and to check my email, which I’m doing right now, and to make my sandwich, which I’ve just done. I’m ready to get off to Piazzale Michelangelo on San Miniato al Monte.

Such a wonder-filled  day. I climbing to the terrace and on up to the lantern of the Duomo and then enjoyed a delightful lunch the woman who writes a fabulous blog about living in Italy. If you love Florence, are thinking about coming here, or evening living here, go to  www.anamericaninitaly.com

     An evening walk ended a very satisfying day. Take a look.

Musical entertainment on the Piazza Republica.

Merry-go-round ride.

Another evening on the Arno.

Yesterday I visited my favorite museum/church in Florence, the Convent of San Marco, which houses the painting and frescoes of Fra Angelico (c. 1300-1455). You enter into a cloister and, if you’re so inclined, you can turn right into the room with the paintings. Or, as I did,  you can cross the cloister and ascend to the floor with the monks cells, each adorned with a fresco of the life and death (there are many crucifixes) of Jesus.

     There is a rich fifteenth century history of silence, solitude and simplicity at the Convent of San Marco. Cosimo de’Medici (1389-1464) often retreated  here from the busyness of being the unofficial leader of Florence. He came for study and contemplation. On the other hand, the Dominican monk, Savonarola (before he was burned at the stake in the Piazza della Signoria in 1494) lived at the convent as he rallied the Florentine citizens to lead a pious life and take back the government from the wealthy families and merchants. Interesting to note that neither men weren’t confined to one cell, but had a suite. Cosimo had two rooms, Savonarola, three.

       Even today, as someone drawn to silence, solitude and simplicity, this is the palace to be. Each cell is about 12’ x 12’. Back when monks were living there, we believe that all each cell contained was a bed and table and maybe a chair. What more could they hold, and besides, what else did a monk have or need?

       I have more furniture in this apartment than I need, but my belongings are simple. Just like at my cottage by the sea, I use few dishes, wear the same few clothes, and accumulate as little as possible. Like Cosimo, I’d love to retreat to a cell in the Convent of San Marco.